Date Rape, a short story by hvysmker. Date added: 2006-05-30. Times viewed: 43332.

Please SEND FEEDBACK - Writers love hearing from you. You can view the Authors profile here

---

Intro: Three teenagers get more than they figured on

---

I wake up, feeling dizzy. Where am I, and how long have I been here? I'll
just lie back and relax, try to think, remember, get my mind straight.

I'm. . . my. . . it's, my mind's getting a little clearer now, still very
fuzzy. I look around, see what is obviously a cellar, the walls seeming to
close in on me, then retreat. How do I know? Who hasn't seen any number of
basements? A large dusty furnace sits in one corner, cement floor, concrete
block walls with a couple of small narrow windows -- high up on their
surfaces, a typical cellar.

Moving my shoulders, I notice I'm lying on something soft, that smells of
mildew and old sex. I'm lying on a mattress on the floor. A musty smell
surrounds me, the air still, cool, and damp. A flight of wooden stairs leads
up to a wooden door, easy to see even in the dim light from the dirty
windows.

I move my hands to feel my face. My legs move, but the right one clinks as I
stretch it out. I'm in some pain, especially between my legs, in my genital
area.

Trying to sit up, I find I'm weak, too weak to make it, and fall back again,
bringing another whiff of stale sweat from the mattress, and maybe myself.
Come to think of it, I also itch. A finger on my chest rubs off balls of
dirty sweat. I must not have bathed in quite a while.

I manage to shift my head to the right, seeing a pool of vomit on the dirty
floor, encroaching onto the edge of the mattress. I'm safe from it though,
the mattress is too high for the stuff to reach me. I also see a workbench
containing various tools, and some cabinets. Everything looks dirty, even
the sides of a nearby wastebasket.

Shifting my head, and gazing to my left side, I see a wall about three feet
away, nothing but blank, raw, concrete blocks. Remembering my leg, I raise
my head and look down the wall. A heavy, maybe an inch thick, chain is
embedded in a steel plate bolted to the wall. My eyes follow the chain.
They drift from the metal plate, past my bare breast - bare breast ? -- down
the length of my equally nude body, to my right leg. I can't help lifting
the leg to make certain. Yep, the chain clanks again and the naked end is
wrapped around my ankle, attached by a normal looking padlock.

So now I also know I'm chained to the wall and naked. I guess those are good
things to know, but only raise many more questions for my already confused
mind. Looking back at the puke and trying to think, I notice two capsules in
the mess. I must have been drugged, or at least partially, I try to think;
but threw it up before I got the full effect.

I don't know why, but I reach over into the vomit and pick up the two
capsular remains, stuffing them under the edge of the mattress. It just
seems the thing to do. Then I look up at the ceiling, trying to both hold
down my fear, and to think. Who am I? Why am I here? Why am I a captive?
And, why ain't I crying and jerking around at my chain? That's another
thing. Why am I taking this so calmly? Dropping my head back to the dirty
mattress, I try to remember. Eventually things, memories, start coming back.
. . .

***

"Where are your folk, Mikey?" I asked the teenager. He looked just a little
too old to need a babysitter, about my age actually, I thought. "The parents
are usually here when I arrive, to give last minute instructions."

I advertise for babysitting in the local newspaper. My mother had answered
the phone and made the appointment for me.

"They had to leave for the party early, Janice was it?" he answered, "you're
one of the prettier ones." He smiled what was probably meant to be a
disarming smile. "I've been in trouble lately, and they think I should be
supervised. Just take it easy is all, watch TV. I'm old enough to go to
bed by myself." He laughed, "They think I need a babysitter."

"Just as long as I get paid." I went past him, and into the living room.
The television was already on. "Okay, just let me know what you're doing,
and I don't suppose you should leave the house."

It was unusual, but what the heck. It would be an easy night, I figured, as
long as Mikey didn't get fresh.

A couple of hours later, I was watching a movie when I heard a door slam and
voices in another room. It sounded like some other boys had come in. I
noted it, but paid little attention, a good scene was on the television at
the time. After all, I had no set rules about him having friends over, and
he was about my age -- sixteen.

After the hero finished kissing his girl, I went to the hallway and saw
another door was open. Walking over, I saw it was a basement door. I heard
voices downstairs, talking about video games, so I went back to the living
room.

A little later, Mikey came in with two friends he introduced as Jerry and
Tony. They looked like normal teenage boys, though not familiar to me
--probably since they didn't go to the same school I did. The boys had
glasses in their hands and were acting a little goofy, like they'd been
drinking. I thought I should tell his parents when they got home. But,
again, with no instructions my hands were tied.

"When do you expect them back, Mikey, your parents I mean?" I asked, a
little apprehensive, but figured I could take care of myself. I'd been
around drinkers before. My father is a binge drinker and has never laid a
hand on me. Besides, I've had six years of karate training, ever since I was
ten years old. My father even teaches classes -- so I felt reasonably safe.

"Around midnight, probably. Never can tell." The three sat down and started
talking boy talk, about school and cars. I tried to block them out, watching
the screen.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Janice. You want a drink?" Mikey asked, looking over at me.

"I don't drink that stuff. My old man drinks enough for both of us."

"Old man? You mean boyfriend?"

"Na, my father. He's drunk a lot."

"How about a soda then? We've got 7up and Coca Cola in the kitchen?"

"A coke sounds good, thanks."

He got up and left the room, coming back a few minutes later with a large
glass of Coca Cola. I thanked him and ignored them again. I mean, nothing
sounded suspicious. Just a few boys having fun and talking. How was I to
know anything was wrong?

A few minutes later, I had to pee and stood up. Just standing made me dizzy
and I had to sit right down again. Suddenly I felt weak and the room started
spinning; I collapsed onto the couch. The last thing I remembered were three
laughing faces standing over me.

***

I wake up in the basement, sore and chained to the wall. Where are the
parents? Do they know or are there any parents at all? Is it their way to
get girls? And, most of all, what do the three have planned?

What they don't know is that I'm somewhat of a karate expert, competing in
citywide competitions. One advantage of karate is that you learn mental
discipline, how to control fear. Which is probably why I'm not scared
shitless by now. You also learn self-confidence.

I know that, if given time, I can get out of this. I take a few valuable
minutes to empower myself, get my senses and emotions under control.

The first thing is to get loose. Then to get ready for them or to get out of
here, whichever works best. First, get loose. I manage to get to my feet,
still a little dizzy but under control. My chain takes me almost to the
workbench. Almost, but not quite.

Going back to the mattress, I check the chain on my ankle. Maybe I can slide
it off? I try, but it just won't come off. Fighting panic, an urge to
scream and pull on it, I look around, seeing some cans on the other side of
the room. Maybe there's some oil or something in them? No, much too far
away. The vomit? I force myself to rub vomit between the links and my skin.
Still no good. It's only a little greasy, not enough. I stop a moment to
compose myself again, I can feel myself start to panic if I sit for very
long; I have to keep active.

"I can get out of here. I know I can," I tell myself, emphatically -- going
back toward the workbench to check it over.
can see a small key ring on the edge of the bench, as out of reach as the
keys to heaven. It sits next to a box -- maybe a padlock box? Makes sense,
but how can I get them?

I look around the room, trying to find something to reach the keys with, and
find a loose piece of old rope almost under my mattress. Maybe tehy didn't
see it when they put the mattress down, I think. But it might be Just what
I need.

Picking it up, I gently throw the end over the keys, then pull the rope. The
keys wiggle a little, but don't move. Maybe a knot in the end? I tie a
loop in the end of the rope. Now, shortened by the knot, it barely reaches
them. It takes a couple of dozen tries -- some missing completely -- to do
it, but the keys finally fall off the edge. Then other tries bring the
keyring to where I can grab it. The second key works, and I'm free. Now
what? The door?

Of course the door is locked, it would have to be. I curse my luck, then
think. I'm also damned lucky to get out of the chain, so my luck isn't all
bad. The lock isn't on the knob -- that turns freely. Maybe another padlock
or bolt on the outside? And the damn thing opens inwardly, so I can't kick
it open. Also, if I try, Mikey might know I was free, and could well have a
gun.

I go over to check the windows. They're too small to crawl through, and
look too difficult to remove, at least without making noise. I try a
screwdriver, but the rusty screws are in too tight.

My best bet might be to wait down here? He'll be able to see the mattress
from the top of the stairs, so hiding won't do any good. The stairs are
enclosed, so I can't hide under them and pull on his ankles. The only thing
I can do is go back to the mattress, as the Mafia is fond of saying.

You guessed it, I'm in good spirits now, after getting out of the lock.
Psyched up, I'm no longer afraid. I have confidence in myself, and will
prepare for his entrance. A couple of hours later, I hear the door opening.

"You think she's still asleep?" I hear one of the boys whispering, "that was
fun last night, Tony. Your dad has some fine stuff there." I lay with my
eyes closed, pretending to be unconscious.

"I don't know the name. One of those date rape drug things. Yeah, she should
be out for a long time yet, I gave her a good dose." It was Mikey talking,
"A giant dose, three capsules instead of one. Don't worry though, we're
going to have her as long as we want. My parents are going to be gone for
at least a month, and I have the house to myself."

"That'll be fun. I hope she does wake up," a third voice answers, "Remember
that newspaper story about a guy having a sex slave in his basement; that
should be good. She wasn't too much fun, just lying there, last night."

"Yeah, a little action sounds good to me." Mikey laughs, "let's wait until
she wakes up, then explain it to her? Maybe we can train her? Beat the shit
out of her when she resists?"

"Maybe we can wake her up and get some first, the hell with explaining?"
someone answers, "That can come later."

Eyes closed, faking sleep, I hear them walking closer -- still talking in
loud whispers, as well as giggling among themselves. Then I feel a hot
breath on my face, as one of them kisses me on the lips.

Boy, are they surprised as I open my eyes. One has a hand raised, probably
to try to slap me awake. They start to rise and back up, smiles on their
evil faces.

My foot jerks away from the loose chain, hitting Mikey in the privates.
I'll bet he's never moved faster in his life as he jerks backward and
collapses, both hands on his crotch. I grab Tony by the ankle, one jerk and
he falls next to me, half off the mattress. Jerry, chicken Jerry, keeps
backing up with eyes growing wide.

It only takes a couple of minutes to take care of them. Tony is the only one
to fight back, and he's easy compared to the guys in the dojo. I tie and
chain them up in the basement, using the entire box of padlocks. Closing the
door and locking it, I push some furniture against the outside and go home.
Too bad about the money, I think on the way home. I should have taken some
off them -- but too late now.

Sometimes I wonder if they ever did get out of that basement. But then,
that's not my problem.

Send feedback

Use for below to send feedback to author - View the Authors profile here

The following form will send feedback to the author about this short story, please enter your e-mail if you wish a reply (which is obviously at the authors own discretion)